


It begins, it ends

by chatnchew



Series: Musings on a villain. [4]
Category: Iron Giant (1999)
Genre: Discussion of Death, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie, mentioned animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatnchew/pseuds/chatnchew
Summary: I found this short lil' fic in the annuls of my old rp blog. It still kinda holds up, so I polished it off some and decided to post it here. I hope you enjoy it!





	It begins, it ends

**Author's Note:**

> I found this short lil' fic in the annuls of my old rp blog. It still kinda holds up, so I polished it off some and decided to post it here. I hope you enjoy it!

It was six a.m. on a Saturday morning, and Kent was awake wondering why he hadn’t been woken up earlier. He slowly peeled open an eye and involuntarily uttered a noise that told him _yes, you’re still alive kid_. Like a bud of molasses, he slid over to the edge of his bed from his point of origin splayed out in the center with sheets in disarray.

Lucky wasn’t there.

Kent shot up, his eyes going wide. Lucky was always there. Snoring, too, which made it hard to sleep. But no matter what the case was, the old beagle wouldn’t leave his side. So where–

He was running down the hall before he even finished that thought. There at the end was the shoe rack. He shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed the hunting jacket he’d left there yesterday against his mother’s dictum.

Lucky was in the woods. He had to be. Where else would a dog go? Kent remembered the several occasions when Lucky would disappear mid-day and return two nights later with a mouthful of game birds. But he’d never left earlier than noon. It was as if the dog knew when the Mansley family would appreciate his gifts the most.

“Lucky!” With hands cupped around his mouth, Kent called for him. “Lucky!” His urgent sprint had slowed down to a brisk walk. As he progressed he crunched fallen leaves under heel deliberately, trying to give himself some sort of distraction. The fog that was hanging around, still yet to be dispersed by the rising sun, didn’t help much to cool his fear.

“Lucky–”

“Kent!”

Kent turned sharply. He squinted and placed a hand over his eyes. It looked as if… His father was materializing out of the fog. As the towering figure came closer, Kent became more sure that it was him. His father walked with such a distinctive gait; one that was cross between a limp and affected swagger. It could have been no one else.

“Kent! What’re you out here for?” Kent glanced back and forth his father and the unchecked thicket that spiraled out before him. He decided that it would be easier to talk to him if yelling wasn’t involved, so he waved him over instead of replying. When his father reached him, hands on his hips as if he were mimicking Superman, Kent spoke in a wavering voice.

“I woke up and Lucky wasn’t there,” he said. He wrung his wrists a bit. “Y’know how Lucky always wakes me up early? He didn’t do it today an’ I got worried. So I came out to look for him.”

Kent’s father was silent for a long while. His brow creased significantly. A hand slowly reached up to rub the back of his neck, then reached down to rest on Kent’s shoulder. Kent gave him an incredulous bug-eyed look.

“Kent…” His father pressed his lips into a thin line as he considered continuing. “Kent… There comes a time in life when it… Ends.” It was Kent’s turn to form a furrowed brow.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Life ain’t something that last forever son,” his father explained. “It begins, it ends. You’re born… And then y’die.” He bent down and picked up a dead branch. Orange leaves clung uselessly to it.

“Do you see this, Kent?” He waited until his son turned to him. “This branch, it was once part of a tree. It was alive. But now it’s not.” Kent’s father set the branch down gently, straightened out his son’s jacket, and sighed.

“Lucky is dead, Kent.”

“No, he’s not.” His father’s eyes widened.

“Kent I just–”

“He can’t be,” Kent interrupted. His chest was heaving now, and his eyes had a hint of pink creeping up into their corners. He looked ready to burst into a fit of hysterics, crying and screaming and flailing to get the world to change in vain.

His father took notice and stopped speaking. He stood up and pulled his son into a hug.

Kent stifled a gasp against his father’s fading flannel shirt. There was silence once more, save for the pulsing breath of the forest. Bird song started up softly in the distance. The fog had begun to lift. Squirrels and chipmunks and all sorts of critters had begun to run about. The world shifted beneath their feet.

“He’s gone, son.”

“...I know, Pop.”


End file.
